


Sweet Dreams Are Made of This

by RhymePhile



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon Related, Case Fic, Challenge Response, Humor, M/M, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Wordcount: 5.000-10.000, secret angels III
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-05-09
Updated: 2009-05-09
Packaged: 2017-10-10 14:35:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/100837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RhymePhile/pseuds/RhymePhile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean has been having the same dream every night for a week, and Sam pays it no mind until something goes wrong during a hunt. Castiel attempts to perform a spell, but gets sucked into Dean's subconscious instead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweet Dreams Are Made of This

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](http://doyle-sb4.livejournal.com/profile)[**doyle_sb4**](http://doyle-sb4.livejournal.com/) during the [](http://community.livejournal.com/deancastiel/profile)[**deancastiel**](http://community.livejournal.com/deancastiel/) [Secret Angels III exchange](http://community.livejournal.com/deancastiel/1672131.html). The prompt from [](http://doyle-sb4.livejournal.com/profile)[**doyle_sb4**](http://doyle-sb4.livejournal.com/) I answered was for "A spell or ward goes wrong. Hilarity ensues." Also fulfilled the requests for UST; humor without being OOC crack; falling or fallen Castiel; lots of Sam.
> 
> Set between 5x13, "The Song Remains the Same," and 5x14, "My Bloody Valentine"

  
  
  
He could feel the music throb and pulse through his chest as he pushed his way past a throng of people to claim a stool at the bar. He motioned to the bartender by waving a $20, took a sip of his first beer, and slapped another bill down with an order to keep them coming. On a night like this he wasn't meant to be sober.

The music was what drew him there initially -- rather than the synthesized mix typical to a place like this, it was _Sabbath_. Team Free Will was momentarily forgotten, because it had to be Fate if he could hear Ozzy playing in a strip club.

Colored lights lit up the elevated platform before him, where three women were curling their bodies around silver poles in time to the driving guitar of "Children of the Grave." One of the dancers had long flowing hair that brushed her ass with every gyration. Dean took notice of it, along with an intricate tattoo of a snake that started from her ankle and went all the way up to the nape of her neck.

She twirled herself using one hand and then placed her foot next to her head. Noticing Dean's eyes on her now, she untied the strings of her halter top to give him a better look.

Dean raised an eyebrow and a five dollar bill.

The woman grabbed the pole and flipped herself upside down, riding the metal so she and the snake writhed slowly to the floor in front of Dean. He grinned in appreciation while she pressed her breasts close to his face and he tucked the money into her bikini briefs.

"Now that's what I call talent."

"And that was only five bucks," she replied.

He smiled at her and fished through his wallet. "What will $50 buy me?"

"You can touch my tits," she said, whispering in his ear. "For another hundred I'll add a lap dance."

Dean held up the cash, flashing his best shit-eating grin. "I'm worth it."

He held out his hand to help her down from the elevated dancing platform, and she in turn led him into a semi-private back room. It was filled with overstuffed armchairs and velour curtains that shielded the area from the rest of the bar. She pirouetted underneath his hand and pushed him down into a large purple loveseat.

"Now," she said, straddling his thighs, "what do I call you?"

At first he was going to say "Bob" or "Frank," but he didn't look like a Bob or Frank, or even a Gary or Joe, and sometimes he got tired of lying all the damn time.

"Dean."

"Mmm. Dean."

She placed her hands down behind her and balanced her weight on his knees in order to arch her back and give him access to her breasts.

"Come to papa..."

"Oh, Dean."

"Just like that..."

"Dean."

"You know how I like it, baby."

"_Dean_."

"I...whuh?"

"Did you just call me _baby_?"

Dean blinked, and then slowly the mottled wallpaper, mirrored ceiling, and shag-carpeted splendor of their motel room came into focus. In another squint after that came Sam, who stood over the bed scowling down through his hair at his brother.

"Um..."

"Having another one of those dreams again?" Sam asked, annoyed.

Dean rose up on his elbows and rubbed his eyes. The dream felt unbelievably real. "Dude, you have no idea."

"Was it the same as last time?'

"This one was even more...tactile," Dean said in a satisfied tone.

"That's..." Sam made a face, "ugh. Now any time you'd like to get up so we can get out of here would be nice. It's almost 10:30."

"You let me sleep that long?"

"I shook you three times and you didn't move. Then you started making, uh, grabby hands and I backed off."

"Grabby hands?"

Sam sighed and rolled his eyes. He mimed squeezing grapefruit in mid-air, at chest level.

"Ohhh, yeah," Dean grinned lasciviously. "Grabby hands."

Sam tossed a T-shirt at Dean's head and picked up his duffel. "I'm packing the car. Don't take all day."

* * *

"I swear, man, it's the weirdest thing. Maybe it's like a premonition of some awesome strip club somewhere that plays Ozzy, has the beer I like, and stars a girl with the biggest ti…"

"Yeah, you told me the last three times you had the dream, Dean. I got it."

"But Sammy, all the other times were different. Once I only made it through the door to see them dancing. Next time I finally made it to the bar and watched her dance. The third time I got to stick the five in her bikini bottom. _This_ time..." He held his hands out to imitate the snake-tattoo woman's endowment.

"Hands on the wheel," Sam said automatically, shaking his head at the same time.

"I never had a thing for tattooed chicks before, but her..."

"Uh-huh, I know. A giant snake tattooed from head to toe with long black hair in a strip club called _The Owl_. I know, Dean, you keep telling me over and over. I get it, you're horny."

"That goes without saying," he said, smiling, "but maybe this is a sign."

"Of what? That you want to visit a strip club?"

"I dunno," he admitted, "the dicks upstairs messin' with my head? Doesn't it seem strange to you?"

"Not really. We were in that strip club a few weeks ago in Illinois."

"Ah yes, _Cheeks_."

"The tattoo could have come from any number of tattoo shops we've passed lately, or hell, an image of a snake out of Dad's journal. Or some late-night movie you saw on TV. The woman is an amalgam of a hundreds of women you've seen over the years. Your brain stores information and it comes out through your subconscious. It's just a dream. It doesn't mean anything."

Dean nodded thoughtfully. "What about _The Owl_? We haven't been anywhere like that."

"Well, if we come across one in the next two towns we visit that has _Black Sabbath_ playing while a half-naked woman with long hair and a tattoo rubs herself all over a stripper pole, I'll buy you a beer."

"If that happens you can buy me a house, 'cause I'd be stayin'."

"It's just a dream, Dean. No one's getting killed or attacked or anything else like I used to see in my visions, right?"

"No. It's me, my hands, and Snake Stripper."

"Then maybe you just should enjoy it."

"Then maybe my brother shouldn't wake me up before I get to the good part," Dean added with a smirk.

* * *

The Impala's driver's side door slammed with an audible creak. Dean took a deep breath and exhaled, moisture crystallizing on the air. "Smell that, Sammy?"

Sam crinkled his nose. "Bacon?"

"No." Dean sniffed the air. "Well, yes. But it's also the smell of the hunt. Like ol' times, y'know? No apocalypse, no angels, no demons, no 'Say yes' this, or 'Destiny and Fate' that. A good old-fashioned hunt."

"The apocalypse hasn't gone away."

"For now it has. It's all about Marie Antoinette-ing some vampires."

Sam grabbed his duffel from the back seat and closed the car door. "I said I was _pretty_ sure it was vampires."

"Well, whatever," Dean said, waving a hand. "You let me know what we need to kill and when."

"Where are you going?"

"There's a neon sign calling me, Sammy," Dean said, pointing to the run-down bar across the street from the seedy motel at which they had just arrived.

"Can you at least bring me back a Cobb salad and a Diet Coke later?"

Dean scowled at him. "You eat like a girl."

"I'm not the one who'll need a bypass by 40."

"Bitch."

"Jerk."

"Call me when you know what it is."

"I will."

Dean tossed his bag over to Sam and followed his nose toward the bacon.

The bar, like most they had frequented over the years, was dark, smoky, and wood-paneled, with neon beer advertisements lighting the way. The large bartender nodded at him as he walked up.

"Gimme whatever you have on tap, and a bacon double cheeseburger, with onion rings."

The bartender filled a pilsner glass with beer and slid it over to Dean. He took a long, appreciative gulp.

"Thanks. I'm gonna sit over there."

He chose a table where he could sit with his back against the wall. He was studying the carvings scratched into the tabletop when his phone rang.

"What'd you find?"

"Nothing yet."

"Then why are you calling?"

"See if they have light honey mustard dressing for my salad."

"You're killin' me here," Dean grumped.

Sam chuckled on the other end of the phone. "Ask the bartender if he's seen any extra rowdy new drunks around the place lately. All signs point to a vampire nest."

"Awesome."

"And Dean?"

"Hmm?"

"Don't forget my dressing."

Dean sighed and didn't bother to reply before he hung up. Since he was still waiting on his burger, he got up to refill his beer. He pulled out his wallet and placed a $20 on the sticky bar top.

"I was lookin' for some friends of mine. They may have passed through here not too long ago. Have you seen anyone hangin' around, loud and obnoxious and new to the area?"

"Maybe."

Dean rolled his eyes and placed another $20 down. "Recollection gettin' any better?"

"Yeah..." the bartender said, pocketing the money. "They were through here yesterday."

"Any idea where they might be stayin'?" Dean smiled. "One of them owes me money."

"Uh-huh," the bartender said, obviously not believing Dean. "You can check that abandoned house on 47. Sheriff broke up a party there last night."

"Thanks," Dean said, tossing down another $20 and walking back to his table.

He was just about to call Sam when the waitress walked up with his food.

"There you go," she said. "You need anything besides ketchup?"

"I don't think so..."

When he looked up at her, he could have sworn her dark hair cascaded all the way down her back like the snake-tattoo woman in his dream. He frowned and blinked, and when he refocused his eyes he realized her hair only passed her shoulders, and she wasn't nearly as well-endowed.

"Well?"

"Uh...no, nothing. I'm fine, thanks."

He stared at her retreating back, and then quickly focused on his burger when she turned around to toss him an irritated look.

* * *

"Dude," Sam said to him when he returned to the room.

"What?"

"Never mind the dressing. You forgot the whole salad."

"Oh. Yeah," he said, distracted. "Sorry about that, Sammy."

"I do all the research and you can't even get me dinner?"

"No...I, uh, I thought I saw the girl from my dream in the bar."

"Aw, _enough_ with the horny dream already, man."

"I glanced up and saw her -- I mean, the waitress -- and I thought for a second..."

"You're probably just tired from the drive and not sleeping well because of that stupid dream," Sam huffed.

"I dunno, maybe."

"Did you get any useful information at least?"

"Uh, yeah. Abandoned house on Route 47. Bartender said the sheriff broke up a party there last night."

"That's good," Sam said, grabbing his coat. "That's probably where the nest is. Looks like you'll get your old-fashioned hunt after all -- and we should get this done before the sun goes down. Listen, why don't you take a quick nap, and I'll get my own dinner. I'll wake you when I get back. "

"Yeah, okay."

Sam stuffed his wallet into his jeans and had his hand on the doorknob before Dean called to him.

"Sammy."

"Yeah, Dean."

"Sorry about your salad."

Sam turned around. "I know."

"Do you hate me?" Dean grinned.

"I'm too weak from hunger to think about it right now," Sam answered, giving him his best bitchface.

"All right then, go. You're messin' up my beauty sleep. Enjoy the rabbit food."

Dean pulled back the covers on a bed on the far side of the room, and Sam closed the door behind him.

* * *

This time the guitars of _Sabbath_ were pounding in tune to the throbbing between his legs. He shifted a little to take the pressure off.

"Mmm. Dean."

She placed her hands down behind her and balanced her weight on his knees in order to arch her back and give him access to her breasts.

"Come to papa..."

He reached up and cupped both of her breasts, surprised when she didn't flinch or object. She hissed in pleasure and began to kiss his neck.

"I...always thought, uh, touching like that and...uh...kissing weren't allowed."

"Rules are made to be broken," she said, now licking his ear.

Dean soon realized that this wasn't so much a lap dance as it was a make-out session. Not that he was complaining.

"Feels like you're enjoying this," she whispered, shifting her hips and rubbing against him.

"Oh, ah, heh-heh, yeah..."

She slid her fingers through his hair and kissed his mouth, with lots of tongue. Then she stood up and took his hand.

"C'mon, big boy, let's put that to good use."

She pulled him to his feet and pushed aside a nearby curtain, where a large bed stood. It had a high, ornate headboard carved intricately in wood, and was bedecked with a luxurious feathered quilt. On either side nightstands held delicate glass lamps, their glow muted by red lace that hung from the shades. Silk pillows in shades of red completed the scene.

The stripper crooked her finger in a come-hither gesture, and patted the bedclothes.

"I don't even know your name," Dean said. "What should I call you?"

She grinned at him seductively. "Lillian. You can call me Lillian."

"Lillian. That's not exactly a stripper name, but okay."

She stood up and stuck her thumb through a belt loop in his jeans. "You complaining?"

"Not at all," he smiled, allowing himself to be pulled over to the bed. She stood over him, and then pushed on his shoulders to make him sit.

"Do you like me, Dean?"

"Oh, yeah Lillian."

"Lillian?"

"Isn't that what you said your name was?"

"Not again, Dean."

"Not again what?"

"Why won't you wake up?"

"Huh?"

Lillian's face wavered and flickered, and the room came into focus. Once again the dream images were replaced by Sam, who was shaking Dean's shoulders. "Wake up!"

"All right, Sammy, I can hear you," he said, waving off Sam's hands. "The hell?"

"As soon as we're done clearing out the nest in the house tonight I'm calling Bobby," Sam declared, backing up now. The concern was evident on his face. "There's something weird going on."

"You yourself said it was just a dream," Dean noted, rubbing his eyes.

"Yeah, I know. I think I was wrong. You're way too deep into these dreams, Dean. It's not normal."

"You think it's like I said, the chuckleheads upstairs messin' with me?"

"Maybe...but Zachariah would have just zapped you there in person to torture you, not mess with your dreams."

Dean ran his hand through his hair. "I guess."

"Are you up for this hunt?"

"What are you, kidding? Let's go gank some vamps, and when we get back we'll call Bobby and figure this crap out."

"You're sure? You look like shit, Dean."

"You weren't concerned earlier."

"You didn't look the way you do now." He pointed Dean over to a decorative mirror hanging above a bedside table.

As soon as Dean looked at himself, he knew Sam was right. There were dark circles under his eyes, and he was incredibly pale and drawn. The dreams had only been affecting him for the past week, but from his reflection it seemed more like a month of sleepless nights. Even his skin was splotchy.

Dean poked at the hollows in his cheeks. "Bobby'll know what to do."

"Yeah, I suppose," Sam said, the doubt obvious in his voice.

"I'm _fine_, Sam."

"_Okay_."

Dean sighed. "Let's just...go get this done. It's startin' to get dark."

* * *

"This is it?"

"It's the only house on this road. It has to be the one. They probably had a whole subdivision planned here."

"It's not our usual dilapidated, abandoned house," Dean said, looking at the huge McMansion before them.

"Vampires taking advantage of the crappy economy?" Sam wondered.

"Not for long," Dean said, taking off through the overgrown hedges toward the backyard.

Sam followed him to the back of the house, where he avoided a rusted swingset and a hot tub blooming with algae, to find Dean standing up on the deck next to the patio door. He was peering through the glass at the occupants inside.

Dean motioned for Sam to come closer.

"There are only three of them," Dean whispered after Sam joined him. "They're passed out in the living room."

Sam gestured with his machete. "You go around the front, and I'll come through here. We'll have a better chance that way in case they wake up."

Dean nodded, and hopped down the deck's stairs onto the grass.

Working his way back around to the front of the house, he was able to glance into a large bay window, which gave him a clear view all the way through to where Sam was standing on the backyard deck. He was preparing to kick down the door when he noticed Sam gesturing wildly. He frowned, and then realized Sam was imitating turning the doorknob. He smiled, and gently twisted the knob.

Sam did the same on the patio door, and before the vampires could sit up their heads rolled across the urethane-finished maple hardwood floors. The third vampire, a 20-something kid a head shorter than Dean, took off running for the bedrooms upstairs.

"Dean!"

"I got 'im, Sammy!" Dean called back, following the young vampire up the broad staircase. When he reached the top of the landing, he stopped.

"Hello, big boy," Lillian cooed.

"Lillian? What are you doing here?"

"I came to finish what we started."

She stepped aside from the doorway to reveal a huge wooden bed covered with a feathered quilt and red silk pillows. Glass lamps draped in red lace bathed the room in a rose-colored hue.

There was something tickling the edges of his conscious thought, telling him this situation wasn't normal. He thought he could hear someone calling his name, and running footsteps, and then shouting. He tried to listen, but Lillian stood before him, beckoning with her luxurious hair and beautiful mouth and sensuous breasts. The snake tattoo looked almost alive, the colors swirling over its body, its tongue flicking the air at the base of her neck. He stared at her lips, so red and plump and daring to be kissed. He wanted her, and she was willing.

Lillian smiled and held out her hand.

Dean reached out and took it.

* * *

Sam saw Dean ascend the staircase and then come to a stop on the landing in front of the bedrooms. He watched Dean wobble for a moment, and then collapse.

"Dean!"

Sam charged through the living room and across the entry foyer to the base of the stairs. At that moment, the young vampire crashed through a second-floor window onto the front lawn, and took off running. Sam didn't even hesitate; he let him go.

Dean lay there on the landing, one arm outstretched, legs dangling near the top step. Sam was thankful he didn't collapse backward.

"Dean. Dean, what happened?"

Sam shook him but he didn't respond. His eyelids were half-shut and his skin was cold to the touch.

"Jesus, Dean, wake up."

Sam grabbed at Dean's shoulders and shook him harshly. He didn't even move when Sam slapped him across the face.

"Okay, okay," Sam said to him, his voice breaking, "we need to get you out of here and we need to call Bobby. He'll know what's going on."

Sam slid his hands under Dean's armpits and hoisted him up enough to throw Dean over his shoulder in a fireman's carry. He held the rickety banister in a death grip as he descended the stairs, afraid he might drop Dean. He took the entry foyer in two strides, and rushed to get back to the Impala.

* * *

"Bobby, when you get this, I need you to call me. It's an emergency."

Sam ran an agitated hand through his hair and sat down next to Dean on the bed.

"He's not answering," Sam said, still speaking to Dean despite his being unconscious.

Sam had tried everything to wake him up -- radio blasted in his ear, more shaking, more smacking, and even a cold shower. All that resulted was a naked and wet Dean, whose face was bright red from the number of open-handed whacks to his face.

"Where the hell is he? It's not like him to be unreachable," Sam continued, pacing now. "He should have his other phones on..."

Sam mentally slapped himself and dragged Dean's clothes over to the bed. He pulled the cell phone out of the pocket of Dean's jeans, flipped it open, and hit the speed dial.

"Emergency," he said, his voice shakier than he intended. "Gray House Inn Motel. Route 18. Gregory, South Dakota. Room 12."

The air in the room shifted almost imperceptibly, and then Castiel was walking up to the bed.

"Hello, Sam."

"Cas. Thanks for coming."

Castiel turned his head toward Dean's direction. "What's happened? Why is your brother unconscious? And wet?"

"That's what I was hoping you can tell me. I've been doing everything I can to wake him up, and I can't reach Bobby. I think...I think Dean is dreaming."

Castiel frowned. "I do not understand."

"Dean's been having the same dream every night this week. He goes into a strip club, a woman gives him a lap dance, and then leads him into a back room," Sam explained. "At first I didn't think much of him dreaming about a strip club -- just Dean being Dean."

"_That_ I understand."

"But then I started having trouble waking him up. He wouldn't respond to me, and then this afternoon I knew something was wrong because after he woke up he was pale and drawn and looking like shit."

"You believe he's in the midst of this dream right now?"

"Yeah," Sam answered. "We were on a hunt for vampires at this abandoned house. He chased one to the second floor and then he just passed out. Before it happened I heard him say something about Lillian, the woman he keeps seeing in the dreams."

"Lillian," Castiel said, frowning now as he looked down at Dean. "Are you positive that was the name he was using?"

"That was the name I heard him mumbling earlier this afternoon, and then again when he collapsed on the stairs at the house."

"Did Dean describe Lillian?" Castiel asked, placing his hand on Dean's forehead.

"Stripper at a club. Long, dark hair. He kept talking about how big her, uh, breasts were. Some kind of weird snake tattoo."

"A snake tattoo. Are you sure of this, Sam?"

"Yeah, Cas, I'm sure." He shook his head. "What's going on?"

"Anything else?"

"Uh..." Sam tried to remember what Dean had been going on about earlier that day. "The strip club was called _The Owl_."

A concerned look briefly passed over Castiel's face. It was only a hint of emotion, but it was enough.

"What is it, Cas? Tell me."

Castiel sat down on the bed. "I fear it is the _ardat lili_, a night demon related to Lilith. She's a succubus. The seductress, the long hair, the snake and the owl -- they're all signs."

"And she's feeding on Dean?" Sam asked, his voice rising.

"Yes. The _ardat lili_ normally lure men into sexual situations via the dream state. They seek to copulate with the victim in order to produce demon offspring. But this..."

"Cas?"

"This is different." Castiel closed his eyes and turned his head slightly, his hand never leaving Dean's forehead. To Sam it looked as though he were listening for something. "She's not looking to breed. She wants him dead."

"Why doesn't that surprise me?" Sam sighed. "But I don't understand how this happened. I thought with the sigils and tattoos we were protected against this sort of thing."

"I believe the bounty placed on Dean's head has made this particular demon more...creative. Neither of you are protected in the dream state. Your subconscious is vulnerable, and the _ardat lili_ has exploited that weakness."

"As if we didn't have enough problems, now we have to worry about when we're sleeping _too_?"

"This seems to be the case. Dean has been attacked, and now we must stop it," Castiel said.

"What are our options?"

"There's a ritual in which I can use a warding spell to protect him from further attack. Once he's safe from harm, we can then cast a banishment spell, to immobilize the _ardat lili_ and separate her from Dean."

"All right," Sam said, beginning to dig through the duffel bag of weapons and supplies the two brothers always carried. "What are we going to need for the first spell? Candles? Salt? Protection circle?"

"An incantation, a piece of rue, some garlic, and a fragment of looking-glass."

"I'm all out of rue," Sam said a bit sarcastically, "whatever that is."

"I can acquire the necessary..."

Before Castiel could finish, Sam smashed the decorative mirror hanging above the bedside table with the butt of Dean's shotgun. A spider web of cracks bloomed across its surface, and Sam gingerly pried a piece of the mirror from the frame.

"Got the looking-glass part covered," Sam declared.

Castiel frowned. "Dean is going to be disappointed with your reckless treatment of motel property, especially when he loses the room deposit."

"He can yell at me when he wakes up. Will it take you long to find the other parts to the spell?"

"Not at all," Castiel answered. "I shall return in a moment."

* * *

When Sam felt a small breeze brush his face he knew Castiel had come back into the room. He was carrying a small piece of paper, a bulb of garlic, and sprigs of a plant with bluish-green leaves and yellow flowers.

"That's rue, I suppose. Where'd you get that?"

Castiel cleared off a table and placed a bowl down, along with all the ingredients.

"Ethiopia."

"Of course."

Sam added his contribution, the broken sliver of mirror, to the bowl.

"Now what's going to happen?" Sam asked.

"I shall utter the incantation, and Dean will be protected."

"That's it? No fire, or smoke, or explosions?"

Castiel cocked his head. "Garlic is not combustible."

"Just checking."

Sam moved away from the table and sat at the foot of Dean's bed. He patted Dean's foot through the blankets. "Cas is here, Dean," he whispered. "We're working on it."

Castiel's back was facing Sam, and he could see him arrange the items just so, and then place his hand over the bowl. Castiel began to speak in a language Sam was pretty sure was Hebrew -- or an ancient variation thereof.

Then Castiel walked over to Dean and placed his hand on Dean's forehead again. He closed his eyes in concentration.

That was when Sam felt it.

A wave of heat radiated from where Castiel was standing. A sensation akin to drinking a hot cup of coffee too fast washed over Sam, flashing from behind his eyes down into his chest. His fingers tingled and his heart began to pound, until a blast of warmth hit his face. He gasped from the power of it, and then saw Castiel's eyes roll back into his head. Sam leapt to his feet and caught Castiel just before he collapsed.

"Cas?"

Castiel's eyes fluttered, and he moaned, "That was...unexpected," before falling into unconsciousness.

"Cas? Castiel! What the hell just happened?"

Castiel was limp and completely unresponsive. Sam tried shaking him and calling his name, but he was just as out of it as Dean was. He still had his hand pressed against Dean's forehead, so Sam decided to err on the side of caution and carefully lifted Castiel next to Dean on the bed, making sure Castiel's hand didn't leave Dean. Chances were that severing the link between them might be dangerous.

Sam sat back on the other bed, and ran a hand through his hair. He let out an exhausted sigh.

"_Now_ what?"

* * *

He could smell her perfume; a light, flowery scent he thought was faintly recognizable. When she bent over the bed to pull the quilt back she leaned close to him, allowing her long hair to brush by his face. He inhaled, enjoying the fragrance that passed by his nose.

Lillian trailed a fingernail lightly across his cheek, and Dean sighed. It had been ages since he felt this safe and comfortable. She began to kiss his neck, and Dean leaned his head back on the pillow and closed his eyes. She worked her lips slowly, moving from his collarbone, to the tendons of his neck, to just under his jaw. The thought occurred to him that perhaps he should have shaved, but then her mouth found his earlobe and he lost track of what he was thinking about.

Lillian draped herself across his body, sliding over the red silk sheets and pillows. She worked her way back down his neck, kissing all the way, and unbuttoned his shirt so she could reach his chest. She peppered his chest with kisses, sucks, and licks, and her tongue flitted at the thin trail of hair marking his abdomen.

Dean moaned in appreciation, and opened his eyes to watch the inevitable descent of her lips past that line of hair.

That was when he noticed someone standing in the room, to the left of the bed.

The lace-covered lamps cast reddish shadows throughout the room, but the trench coat, rumpled suit and tie, and tousled hair were unmistakable.

"_Cas_?"

"Hello, Dean."

Lillian turned her head at the sound and instantly moved to the opposite side of the bed. She stared sullenly at the intruder.

"What do _you_ want?" she hissed.

"If it's a threesome we're gonna need to set some ground rules," Dean joked.

"Get away from him," Castiel said to her, his voice deeper and more ominous than usual.

"Whoa there Cas, there's plenty to go around. You can have a turn after I'm..."

"I said to get away from him," Castiel repeated, ignoring Dean.

"He's mine. He came willingly."

"You seduced him. He doesn't know what he's doing."

"I'm about to get fucked is what I'm doin', Cas," Dean said, smiling.

Castiel met Dean's eyes with a disapproving look.

"What? That's what I paid her for."

"You see?" Lillian cooed, tracing circles around Dean's exposed stomach. "He wants it."

"Hell yeah, I want it. That's why I'm here," Dean said.

"Dean, you've been seduced," Castiel explained. "She means to do you harm. She's an _ardat lili_."

"A what?"

"An _ardat lili_, a night demon. A succubus. She seeks to copulate with you in order to kill you and claim the bounty on your head."

"I don't know what he's talking about," Lillian said.

"Cas, I don't think you know what..."

"You're dreaming, Dean. That's how the _ardat lili_ claim their victims."

"I'm dreaming?"

"Yes."

"So I'm dreaming that you interrupted me when I was about to have sex?"

"Not exactly," Castiel admitted. "I encountered a bit of difficulty with a spell."

"Uh-huh."

"I will explain more thoroughly later. For now you must listen to me."

"Listen to you?"

"Yes. You're in danger."

"He doesn't know what he's saying, big boy," Lillian said to Dean. "Ignore him and let me show you the time of your life."

"She is corrupting your soul and you are weakening. If you don't abandon these pursuits, you will die."

"What a way to go, huh?" Dean asked Lillian, and she giggled in response.

Castiel walked closer to the bed and put his hand on Dean's shoulder.

Dean finally looked up at him.

"Please," Castiel said.

"All right, Cas," Dean answered, a strange look on his face. "I don't think this is a big deal, but all right."

Lillian had backed away as soon as Castiel approached the bed. She was standing beside the nightstand, scowling at him. "This isn't over, _angel_," she said angrily.

"How did you know he was an angel?" Dean asked, surprised.

"You are exasperating," Castiel said to him, sounding particularly human at that moment.

"You can't protect Dean forever in here," Lillian growled. "I will hunt you down."

"I do not fear you, demon," Castiel answered, his voice low and dangerous again.

"Perhaps you should, child. I can sense your Grace draining away. I can almost taste it," she said, chuckling evilly. "The light of Heaven grows dim in your eyes. You are _falling_."

Lillian sneered, and raised her arms. The lights began to flicker, and the pillows blinked out of existence. Then the lamps disappeared with the feather quilt.

"Dean, think of somewhere you felt calm and at peace. A safe place. We need to go there, now."

"What do you mean, 'safe place,' Cas? What are you..."

"Think of a safe place, Dean. Do it. _Now_!"

Castiel grabbed Dean's shoulders, and they disappeared.

* * *

The early morning sun's rays danced across the surface of the lake, creating a dazzling swath of reds, oranges, and yellows. Birds sang from the trees on the lake's far bank, and the only other sound was the lapping of the water against the hull of the small row boat.

"This is your safe place?"

"You didn't give me much time to think about it," Dean answered, trying to bait his hook with a wriggling earthworm.

"I think I preferred the dock. This boat seems...poorly maintained," Castiel said, pulling off a piece of splintering wood and dropping it into the lake to emphasize his point.

"I just happened to be sitting at the dock that time you popped into my dream. The fishing is better out here. Deal."

Dean hooked a finger around the line of his pole, flipped open the bail on the spinning reel, and cast his bobber next to an old log.

"So I'm dreamin', huh?"

"Yes."

"My head feels clearer, now," Dean said. "I could hear you talkin' but it was like I was in a fog."

"Lillian is a seductress and a powerful night demon. She can alter situations to suit her will."

"And I wasn't actually havin' a good time back there."

"No."

"Because I'm really in danger."

"Yes."

"And this lily demon wants to dip me in carbonite and sell me to Jabba the Hutt."

"_Ardat lili_, and you continue to use pop culture references even though you _know_ I do not understand them."

"Sorry," Dean said, reeling in his line. "A demon wants me dead because I'm worth money."

"Yes."

"How do you fit in?"

"I was attempting a warding spell to protect you when something unexpected occurred."

"How unexpected? Like, 'Oops, I burned the hamburger,' or 'Oops, I set the house on fire'?"

Castiel cocked his head. "I was accidentally propelled into your subconscious."

"Bet that was a surprise," said Dean, casting his line out again.

"Quite," Castiel nodded.

"How do we get back? Can't you, y'know, zip over to your body and get us out of here?"

"We are connected, Dean. I am trapped within _your_ subconscious mind. I cannot leave you until you wake up."

"Well, what if I dream up a shotgun and salt shells?" Dean asked. "Will that work?"

"Lillian is powerful and can conjure anything in the dream state. She is in control. We, however, are limited to your existing dreams."

"That's why I'm not catching anything. In this one I borrowed the boat and floated around all afternoon."

"I will keep you safe until we can find a solution."

Dean reeled in his line again despite the fact that he knew the bobber would never dip below the surface with a fish on the other end. He cast out, hitting the other side of the log.

The bobber listed in the stillness of the lake, occasionally bumping up against the log. It moved back and forth, back and forth, and then it began rising higher as waves started touching it. Soon it -- along with Dean's boat -- was violently rocked by larger waves.

"What's goin' on?" Dean shouted.

There was a loud hum far off on the lake, and it was growing closer. Dean thought it sounded like an engine, a big one.

The hum grew louder and steadier and was replaced by the unmistakable growl of a giant outboard. Castiel squinted at the horizon, and then pointed.

A large red speedboat many times larger than the small craft Castiel and Dean were sitting in came roaring into view. It had two powerful outboard motors that churned the calm lake water into froth as the boat sped closer to them.

"It's Lillian!" Castiel cried. "Dean, somewhere else, quickly!"

Castiel grabbed onto Dean's arm and they blinked away moments before the huge vessel smashed the row boat to tinder.

* * *

The Impala sped down a section of road at night, Dean behind the wheel and Castiel beside him in the passenger seat.

"Where are we this time?" Castiel asked.

"Drivin'. I have dreams about drivin' all the time."

"Do you ever arrive anywhere?"

"Not really."

"Dean, we can't keep this up forever. We must find a way to perform that banishment spell. You continue to weaken in your conscious state."

"I know, I know, Cas," Dean said, concentrating on the road. Then he had a thought. "What if I, uh, crashed the car? Killing yourself in the dream can wake you up."

"Don't forget that we're connected. I don't know what would happen to me if you crashed the car."

"Oh."

"So it would be ill-advised."

"Right." Dean sighed and then slammed his hands on the steering wheel. "Man, I wish Sammy was here. He could probably think up a way..."

"Dean, that's perfect. Can you locate a dream you've had about your brother?"

"Yeah...what can he do?"

"Using the Sam in your dream, I can link to Sam's own dream state, and from there get his help with the banishment spell in the conscious state."

Dean looked at him. "_Really_?"

Castiel waved his hand. "It's complicated."

"All right...you gonna take my arm?"

"Yes, of course," Castiel said, momentarily forgetting and reaching for Dean. "I need the physical connection to remain with you."

"I feel like a seeing-eye dreamwalker," Dean grinned.

Headlights behind them suddenly reflected in the rear-view mirror, and Dean had to release his hold from Castiel to put his hand up to block his line of sight.

"Whoever that is behind us must have their brights on."

Castiel turned around, and at that moment the grill of a huge, red, Mack truck connected with the Impala's rear bumper.

"Lillian again?" Dean yelled over the sounds of crunching metal.

"Yes! Find Sam! Go!"

Castiel gripped Dean's shoulder and they flashed out of the Impala.

* * *

Jessica smiled and threw her arms around Sam. "I knew you would have no problem with that exam!" she squealed, kissing his mouth. "You were worried over nothing."

"I guess," Sam grinned. "You're my good luck charm."

Dean and Castiel stood in a student lounge on the Stanford grounds, watching the scene before them. Dean smiled wistfully at the scene until Castiel leaned over close to his ear.

"This is not the Sam that can help us," Castiel explained, not without a hint of sadness in his voice. "We need something more current."

"Why?"

"This Sam is a conjuring of your deepest wishes, your desires. He is happy, fulfilled, untouched by tragedy and darkness."

"I know," Dean said sadly.

"He cannot help," Castiel said again. "He does not have the knowledge."

"Let's go then," Dean said, holding out his arm. They both disappeared, the sounds of laughter echoing behind them.

They turned up at a dingy bar, where Sam was sitting alone at a table.

"This was a few weeks ago, I think. Everyone in the bar except for me and Sam are Hollywood monsters."

"Curious."

Dean shrugged. "But we just sat there and drank beers. We didn't kill any of 'em. Weird, huh?"

The Wolfman walked by Dean and Castiel on his way to the men's room and nodded hello.

"C'mon, let's talk to Sam."

They walked up and sat down unannounced next to Sam, who nearly jumped out of his skin.

"_Dean_! _Cas_! What the hell?"

"We're kinda in the middle of..."

"Dean, this bar is full of Hollywood monsters, did you notice that?" he cried. "The Creature from the Black Lagoon keeps making kissy noises at me."

Castiel frowned at Dean, who grinned.

"Yeah, Sammy, it's no big deal. Shut up for a minute, will ya?"

"What's going on?"

"Cas needs to borrow dream you here, so we can contact dream you in your own dream, and then get awake you to help us get the hell out of here."

"He needs to...what?"

Castiel placed his hand on Sam's head and closed his eyes. "This will take a moment."

Back in the motel, Sam had fallen asleep on the bed next to where Dean and Castiel lay. His rest had been fitful, and he had tossed and turned on the lumpy mattress, but he finally drifted off hoping Bobby would call him back.

He was cleaning one of their shotguns on Bobby's kitchen table while his father played poker with Daryl Hannah dressed in a mermaid costume in the background when Castiel walked in.

"_Castiel_!" he shouted, rising to his feet. "Please tell me Dean is okay."

"Your brother is fine," Castiel said, looking over at John Winchester and the pool of water developing on Bobby's living room rug under where Daryl Hannah sat.

"I was watching _Splash_ when I fell asleep," Sam said by way of explanation. "I didn't know what else to do. Bobby never got back to me, my research didn't tell me anything..."

"Sam, I don't have much time, so please pay attention."

"What do you need me to do?"

"I do not have the incantation needed to banish the _ardat lili_ committed to memory. You must find it. There is a Persian bowl on which Mandaic is written..."

"_Mandaic_?"

"Pagan Aramaic. You do not have to recite it in Mandaic. We merely require the words written on the bowl. I am fairly certain there are translations available which you can read."

"Okay, Cas. Persian bowl in Mandaic."

"Create a triangle within a circle. At the points of that triangle, write these three names: _Senoy_, _Sansenoy_, and _Semangelof_." Castiel spelled them out for Sam to be sure he was clear. "Those are the names of three angels Lilith and her kin have vowed to avoid. After the incantation is read, she will be drawn into the circle and then banished from Dean's subconscious. Do you understand?"

"_Senoy_, _Sansenoy_, and _Semangelof_. Got it, Cas."

"Hurry, Sam."

With that, Sam woke with a start and rushed to the nightstand to grab paper and a pen. He furiously scribbled all that Castiel had told him, and then opened his laptop.

* * *

In the bar, Castiel released his hand from Sam's head.

"How did it go?" Dean asked.

"I have faith in your brother."

"Now what?"

"Now we wait. But first take us somewhere else." Castiel watched as Frankenstein and Medusa walked out onto the dance floor together. "These surroundings are disconcerting."

Dean patted dream Sam on the shoulder. "See ya later, Sammy. I'd keep an eye on Frankenstein's Bride if I were you."

Sam turned his head to see the Bride winking at him.

"Aw, c'mon, Dean..."

Dean smiled, grabbed Castiel, and disappeared.

* * *

"I suppose I should have expected a diner at some point," Castiel noted.

"I dream about food a lot, Cas."

"Isn't there anywhere else we can go that's somewhat more...protected? Haven't you dreamt of castles, or a battlement, or perhaps a keep?"

"Well, yeah, but then there'd be orcs and _Uruk-hai_ runnin' around."

"I will assume that's bad."

"Pretty much."

A blonde waitress with a low-cut top and very short shorts arrived at their table, pad and pencil in hand.

Dean crooked a smile, and Castiel merely sighed.

"I'll have a bacon double cheeseburger, cheese fries, _El Sol_ in a bottle if you have it, and apple pie with vanilla ice cream."

"And your friend?"

"I do not require..."

"He'll have the same."

And since Dean was as impatient in the dream state as he was in real life, the food materialized in front of them almost immediately.

"Awesome."

"Your appetite for food that has no nutritional value is astounding."

"I'll take that as a compliment," he answered, mouth half-full.

Castiel could only shake his head.

"Cas?"

"Yes, Dean."

"That stuff Lillian was sayin' about you, back in my first dream, was that true? That you were falling?"

Castiel didn't meet Dean's eyes. "Yes."

"I don't understand. I mean, I knew you weren't in fightin' shape because you were cut off, but..."

"It's more than being separated from Heaven's power. You saw how weak I became after the trip to 1978."

"Yeah."

"It's been happening slowly. I can no longer heal; I grow weak during relatively simple movements in time; I can no longer..."

Castiel paused, and turned his head to stare out the window.

Dean put his burger down. "Cas."

"I can no longer banish demons," Castiel said, his eyes locked on Dean's. "I learned of it in Carthage."

Dean frowned. "It's not the best news, but it's not like we haven't dealt with tougher problems before, right?"

"No, Dean, you do not understand. The moment I realized _why_ I hadn't told you was the moment I knew what was truly happening. "

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I feared you would lose hope after what happened with Lucifer, and the Colt, and Ellen and Jo. Without my powers I am of little use. I didn't want you to think me a burden because, as Lillian so aptly put it, 'the light of Heaven grows dim' in my eyes."

"Cas, are you sayin' that you were _worried_ what I would think about you?"

"I did not want to disappoint you."

"You could never disappoint me," Dean said quietly. "You've...you've sacrificed a lot."

"Before the Host laid siege to Hell, I gave a holy oath to protect you above all else, to forfeit my life in return for yours. Then I rebelled, and I realized that despite my faltering powers, I would keep that vow. I am here because of you, Dean, not because of loyalty to Heaven, or lack of it. I decided that I would follow you to the end, and as I laid my impotent hand to Meg's head, I found myself at a loss at what to do. I am...feeling things I have never experienced before. It was then I knew I was falling from Heaven."

"I don't understand."

"I am afraid of losing you," Castiel admitted, turning his face toward the window again.

"You won't, Cas. I wouldn't let you face all this stuff alone, especially since you rebelled for _me_."

Castiel looked at him. "Dean..."

"Listen, I may not always say it, because I'm not into the chick flick moments, but you mean more to me than anything in this apocalyptic world, okay? Well, excluding Sammy of course." Dean smiled at him. "He was there first."

Castiel lifted the corner of his mouth.

"Was that a smile just then?"

"I believe so," Castiel answered, a true grin on his face.

"You and me, Cas. We're makin' it up as we go, right?"

"Yes."

"You're as much a part of me as Sammy is now. You won't lose me. Not ever, okay? I'm gonna hold you to that vow -- we're in this to the end."

Castiel reached over and brazenly stole a french fry from Dean's plate.

"Don't make me smite you," Dean teased.

The waitress walked up and interrupted them with a "How's everything?"

"Better now," Castiel answered.

"You should have kept running, big boy," the waitress answered, morphing into Lillian.

Before Dean could move, Castiel jumped up and grabbed Lillian by the throat. His forward momentum propelled him into the next table, shattering dishes and spreading food all over the floor.

Lillian brought her knee up to Castiel's sternum, and she thrust him back and away from her. With a flick of her hand he was flying through the air and into the diner's plate glass window.

"Nice try, child," she called to him as his head smashed against the window pane.

"Cas!"

Lillian snapped her fingers, immobilizing Dean. She fluttered her fingertips, and Dean was dragged to where she was standing.

"Now," she said, licking her lips, "where were we?"

She claimed Dean's mouth in a deep kiss, probing with her tongue. He struggled and fought, and then she slipped her hands around his waist and he began to relax.

"Mmm, that's it, Dean. Oh, and I apologize for the rather crude speed boat and truck attacks. It was just so uncouth of me, I admit. I'm a lover, not a fighter."

Dean's knees began to buckle, and he sunk to the floor, deep in her thrall. She caressed his neck on the way down.

"If we wouldn't have had all those rude interruptions this would have been taken care of already," she said to him, pulling at his belt buckle. She waved her hand again and the diner's salad bar transformed into a bed. "But I'm not so unromantic that I can't create a proper bed."

She dragged him across the floor by his unbuttoned jeans and placed him into the bed. Lillian removed his shirt and crawled in next to him.

"How's that, Dean?"

"Just how I like it," he said dreamily.

"As I thought," Lillian said, rubbing his nipples. "Let's get you warmed up for the big show..."

She removed his underwear with a flick of her wrist, and began to gently rub her fingernails up and down his cock. Dean moaned, Lillian smiled, and that was when a blinding flash of light flung her off the bed and onto the floor below.

Castiel stood next to the bed, his head bloodied and clothes torn where the glass had penetrated his skin. His hand was outstretched, the remaining power of the Host pulsing through him like flowing water. Lillian rose, but Castiel pushed back with his power, straining as he did so.

Lillian growled at him, her eyes flashing red, and she reached out with her own power.

Castiel's feet began to slide across the floor as he struggled to remain upright.

"You are a mere child, angel," she called to him. "Your powers are nothing compared to mine."

Lillian stretched out her other hand, and Castiel could see huge wounds begin opening on Dean's chest, arms, and legs. He cried out in pain, thrashing and pulling at the bed, unable to move.

"No!"

"Yes!" she shouted.

Castiel steadied himself, and pushed outward. He called on the breath and strength of Heaven, and in one blast of power he severed the connection between Lillian and Dean long enough to run over to the bed. He held Dean in his arms, turned around, and unfurled his wings to wrap them around himself and Dean at the same time. A white, shimmering light radiated from his wings, shattering fixtures, windows, and even walls.

Lillian screamed in anger and threw all her power at them, but Castiel crouched on the bed and held Dean tight against the onslaught.

The room then began to quiver and shake, and in the distance Castiel could make out a voice speaking over the din. He knew his faith in Sam was well placed.

"Bound is the bewitching Lillian with a peg of iron in her nose," sounded Sam's voice, "bound is the bewitching Lillian with pincers of iron in her mouth; bound is the bewitching Lillian, who haunts Dean Winchester, with a chain of iron on her neck; bound is the bewitching Lillian with fetters of iron on her hands; bound is the bewitching Lillian with stocks of stone on her feet!"

Their surroundings began to fade, as first the diner tables disappeared, and then the smashed panes of window glass, and then the bed itself.

Lillian screamed, her voice howling in anger and fear as she vanished.

The dream world at last lost substance, and Castiel woke up next to Dean in the motel bed, his hand never having moved from Dean's forehead at all.

* * *

Two Weeks Later

Even though all the windows were down, the road sounds couldn't drown out _AC/DC_ blasting from the Impala's stereo. Sam made a move to reach for the dial, but Dean punched the headrest from the back seat, where he was sitting with Castiel.

"No you don't!"

"I can't hear myself think!" Sam yelled over the screaming of Bon Scott.

"You don't have to think, just drive!"

"I thought you were feeling better!"

"I am!" He looked over at Castiel. "Just let me enjoy myself!"

"Fine!" Sam shouted back, grinning in the rear-view mirror. "Where are we headed, anyway?"

Dean draped his arm around his angel's shoulder.

"I don't know, Sammy! We're makin' it up as we go!"

  
End


End file.
